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lucifersdickriderdotnet · 4 months ago

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Emergency Contact

Summary: Having siblings sucks. Having siblings who are constantly getting into life threatening situations is worse. 5.9k words.

Disclaimer: as usual, if they're ooc no. uhm. Diavolo and Barbatos are here and they are referred to as Lucifer's boyfriends but it's in like a fun jokey teasing way that siblings do. except Lucifer actually is dating Diavolo in my head so. asmo and solomon ARE dating because I want them to be. maybe next time I'll make solomon date satan. you can only call a man a cute kitty so many times before people get ideas. if you couldn't tell by the title and the summary, people get #sick and break their #bones. oh. there is one (1) cannibalism joke. not demoncest just bros being bros.

Notes: this took so long because I've never written a decent ending in my life and i spent two days on it. also that anon really pissed me off for some reason idk. if you don't like how anyone is characterized write your own fanfiction man idk. solmare doesn't even have consistency with this nonsense. Lucifer is nice to his brothers in this because I want him to be. amen.

It’s a little known fact that Lucifer is everyone’s emergency contact. When it comes to those he cares about, he is protective, almost annoyingly so. So, it makes sense that the person who knows everything about everyone should be in charge if something goes awry. His phone hardly ever rings for emergencies, half because his brothers’ manage to get themselves out of trouble through a series of convoluted and confusing hijinks and half because most of them would rather eat nails than call him to tell him something is wrong. He’s even Barbatos’ emergency contact, despite the fact that Barbatos has never been sick or injured.

When his phone does ring, though, it’s almost always because someone has managed to damage themselves beyond repair, which is why he’s staring at the caller id on his D.D.D. like he can make it stop ringing if he glares hard enough.

“Lucifer Morningstar speaking,” it hadn’t stopped ringing and Diavolo had almost reached across the table to answer it for him.

“Hello this is Devildom General Hospital. We received a patient today and your name was on his–”

“Who.” It comes out dull and flat. He’s gripping his fork so hard he can hear the metal squeak.

“Excuse me?” The demon on the other end of the phone sounds perfectly polite but Lucifer is already so strung out all it does is grate his nerves.

“Who are you calling for?”

“Mam–”

“I’ll be right there,” he’s standing up in a hurry, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and ignoring Diavolo’s many questions as he leaves their dinner.

“Sir, if you’ll just–” he hangs up before the nurse can say anything else.

Mammon managed to break a bone or two in a scuffle he won’t tell Lucifer the details of.

“Do you know how hard it is to break a femur, Mammon?” Lucifer is gripping the steering wheel of the car so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t snapped in half.

“Pretty damn hard, all things considerin’.” Lucifer exhales sharply out of his nose and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. He’s staring out of the window, and the white of his hair is dirty with mud and something red that Lucifer knows didn’t come out of his skull but worries him regardless.

“Mammon, this isn’t something to joke about.”

“I know,” he taps the hard cast of his leg with a bruised knuckle, “‘m the one with the broken bones.”

“If you know why are you doing it?” Lucifer can’t stop his voice from raising a few decibels towards the end of his sentence and has to mentally count to ten to not start screaming.

“‘Cause I just got the shit beat outta me ‘n’ I don’t wanna listen to yer lecturin’.” Mammon finally turns his head to stare at Lucifer and the elder looks away from the road for a second to meet his eyes. It’s not often that Mammon genuinely argues with him, not often that Mammon gets mad enough to let the blue of his eyes light with fury. Whatever happened tonight was not something that he wanted to happen, and it’s not something he needs a scolding for.

There’s a tense silence where Lucifer sighs and then flicks the turn signal, sliding across the lanes of traffic to take Mammon somewhere else before they go home.

“Did you win?” He’s pulling into Madame Screams’ drive through when he asks.

“‘Course I did.”

“Good.”

They both silently agree not to tell the rest of them about their little pit stop, and it’s as Lucifer’s pulling into the garage that he turns to his brother.

“Mammon.” A hum sounds from the passenger seat. “Next time, call me yourself. I don’t want it to be the hospital unless you’re physically incapable of talking.”

“Roger that.”

—

Lucifer is not known as the most comforting of his brothers. The six of them tend to rely on each other for that, going to Mammon or Beel if they have emotional troubles. Lucifer, as the oldest, is good for cleaning up messes. Putting things back together and making it look like nothing was ever amiss in the first place. It’s his job to protect them, from the world and from themselves, and he takes it seriously. Still, despite his brick wall in place of a heart and his general ineptitude when it comes to being affirming in any sense, he is not incapable of helping his brothers out of a tight spot. He’s just not preferred.

“Lucifer,” Levi’s voice is shaky and stuttering on the other end of the phone. He knew something was wrong when his phone started ringing in the middle of class. His brothers all know how much he hates distractions during class time, just like they know when he has a class so they don’t bother him. He knew something was worse when it was Levi’s name flashing across the screen. Levi refuses to call any of them unless the world is ending. He knew something was horrible when he remembered that today was one of the few days that Levi is mandated to come to campus.

“Yes?” He’s already left class walking down the hallway towards the abandoned wing where he knows Levi is. He keeps his steps measured and even, keeps his breathing calm. It won’t do to have two of them panicked at the same time.

“Are you busy?” They both know the answer to that question, just like they both know he’s going to lie.

“You caught me in the middle of a break. Why?” He tests the door handle for the swimming pool. Closed for renovations, the sign says. The same thing it’s said for the past several millennia. The door swings open without any effort on his part, the magic seal already broken before he got here.

“Would you like to go for a swim?” There’s a splash on the other end of the line. Lucifer snorts.

“I’m not one for water.” There’s silence and another splash and Lucifer lets out a heavy sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yay,” Levi says, soft and timid, and Lucifer can see him now, all of him, filling up the entire pool. He doesn’t get in yet, just removes a glove and sticks a finger in the water to let Levi know he’s here. He watches as the miles and miles of indigo scales shift and slide along each other until he’s face to face with thousands of sharp teeth.

“You’re going to break the pool again,” is what he says, voice dry. He sputters indignantly when that earns him salt water to the face. He’s soaked now, head to toe and he’s going to miss these shoes.

“Oops.” Levi’s voice is sprinkled with something mirthful, no longer halfway to tears as it was just a moment ago. “Get in. The water’s nice.”

“Yes,” Lucifer swipes a hand across his face to push his bangs back. Salt water drips into his eyes anyway. “I can see that.”

Levi giggles and his face moves away, body coiling in, on, and over itself, too big to fully fit in the pool.

“You said you’d swim with me.”

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

Truthfully, Lucifer doesn’t like swimming. He is not a bird that is built for water, and getting wet usually means being cold and grounded for a while. Truthfully, he’d rather finally open one of the many letters Michael has sent him over the years. Truthfully, he would do anything for his brothers. Truthfully, Lucifer doesn’t think he’ll fit, but a promise is a promise, so he slides out of his uniform and climbs in.

Levi doesn’t ever tell him what made him so upset he rebroke R.A.D. 's pool, but he does leave a box of Princess’ Poison Apples on his desk the next morning, so Lucifer sets his sights on re-fixing the swimming pool. Maybe this time he’ll convince Diavolo to make it bigger.

—

Satan would rather rip his own teeth out with nothing but a Q-tip and a single milligram of ibuprofen to numb the pain than ever ask Lucifer for help. Their relationship is getting better, he will admit, but he’s filled with a rage towards the oldest that could melt even the strongest of metals, and it will take a while to temper the flame. So, no, he will not ask Lucifer for help, but, if he’s annoying enough about it, Lucifer will fix it anyways.

He starts by mentioning it to Asmo, squinting at him and saying that no, he can’t tell if Asmo’s eyeliner is uneven, because he can’t see.

“Can’t see?” Manicured fingernails are digging into his cheeks as Asmo grips his face and moves his head from side to side. He has to shelve books in his mind’s inner library to not rip his brother’s face clean off his head.

“Doesn’t look like cataracts or anything,” Asmo hums, dropping his face. Satan massages his jaw slightly. “What do you mean you ‘can’t see’?”

“I meant what I said. Your face is slightly blurry and I can’t tell if your eyeliner is even because it just looks like a blob. Ergo. I can’t see.” Satan crosses his arms over his chest and dodges Asmo’s subsequent grabs for his face.

“Oh,” a snort, “you probably need glasses.” He turns back around to his vanity and Satan has to stop himself from saying no shit out loud.

“Glasses are for losers.”

“Lucifer wears glasses.”

“My point exactly.” Asmo twists his lipstick back down before popping the cap on and pulling open a drawer. He gestures for Satan to look inside and he does and–

“I didn’t know you wore contacts.”

“Not very many people do. Mammon has glasses too, you know. He’s sensitive to bright lights. The sunglasses indoors are not just a poor fashion statement,” Asmo sighs and shakes his head, like the image of Mammon wearing his sunglasses inside brings him physical pain. “And, I think Levi has some because all of those screens destroyed his rods and cones.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for calling you a loser.” Asmo waves him off.

“The point, Bitty, is that you wouldn’t be the first.” It wouldn’t be just you and Lucifer is what he’s saying. Satan nods and then frowns.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Why?” Asmo reaches over to poke his cheek. He narrowly avoids getting a finger bitten off. His voice rises several octaves, turning into a coo. “You’re just an itty bitty baby– Ow, dammit fine.”

He then proceeds to complain about it as loudly as possible, as frequently as possible. No, he can’t help Mammon with his homework, the words are bleeding together. Yes, he does have to sit front and center now because otherwise the board is unreadable. No, he did not catch that last slanderous missive about Lucifer in the R.A.D. Newspaper because he couldn’t read the draft that was sent to him for editing. (He made Belphie read the drafts to him out loud and thought that the article was funny.)

“Satan,” everytime Lucifer has to talk to him he looks constipated and it makes Satan laugh inside.

“Big Bother.” Lucifer’s eye twitches.

“You have an appointment with the optometrist. Get in the car.” Satan sets his book down.

“Can’t Mammon take me?” He doesn’t want Mammon to take him. Still, it’s funny to see the vein pop on Lucifer’s forehead.

“... Get in the fucking car.”

Satan plays heavy metal in the car because he knows Lucifer hates it and makes him sit in the lobby during the actual check up because he thinks it’s funny to watch his leg bounce up and down. (And because Lucifer gets a copy of all of their medical records anyway. The freak probably checked Satan’s eyes himself while he was sleeping and already knows his prescription.)

“Those glasses look nice on you,” is all Lucifer says when he picks out the frames.

“I changed my mind. I hate these ones.” (He doesn’t.)

—

He’d been in his room, up to his eyes in paperwork when his phone rang. It’s not unusual for Asmo to call him, the younger always wanting to chat and gossip for as long as Lucifer will pretend to listen, but it is unusual for him to call in the middle of an Asmo Night.

“Hi Asmo, what–”

“Lucy!!” He has to pull the phone away from his ear to avoid rupturing the drum.

“I believe I have asked you not to–”

“Hey! Give me my–” There’s a scuffle on the other end before a voice that Lucifer recognizes as Solomon’s starts speaking.

“Lucifer! I believe Asmodeus has had enough for tonight and needs to be deposited home. I would do it myself, but as per our agreement, I am not allowed–”

“Within twenty feet of my front door. Yes, I know. I’ll come get him. Please keep him out of trouble until I get there.” He rubs the bridge of his nose before standing up and making his way to the door.

“Wonderful! Now, about that pact–” Lucifer hangs up before Solomon can finish the question and hits Levi’s door on the way down the stairs.

“Bed, Leviathan.” There’s a small squeak in response. “Or at least pretend to be sleeping. I can hear your game from out here.” The RPG music leaking from Levi’s room into the hallway quiets drastically.

He stops by the kitchen to find Asmo his crackers and a bottle of water before leaving, instructing Beel to carry himself and Belphie to bed on his way out.

Lucifer does not like parties. He thinks they are loud and annoying and too many people try to get handsy with him when really all he wants is to drink his Demonus in peace. He’s dealing with that now, batting off people’s hands and ignoring requests for a night alone as he makes his way to Asmo’s booth.

“Asmo,” Solomon’s voice is soft and fond as he rouses Asmo from a short nap, “Lucifer’s here. It’s time to go.”

“Mmkay.” Asmo rubs his eyes and gives Solomon a peck on the lips that Lucifer has to fight the urge to gag at. He crawls out of the booth and grabs Lucifer’s hand, and somehow the crowd parts to let him past with no fuss. They barely make it outside before Asmo is hurling all over the sidewalk and Lucifer is remembering that Asmo smells like warm, sugared peaches.

Asmo smells like peaches. Allegedly, he smells like whatever is the most alluring to you, but Lucifer thinks he has always smelled like peaches. He smells like the holy peach cobbler that Michael used to make in the Celestial Realm. Asmo smells like the peach flavored macarons that Barbatos makes when he and Lucifer have tea. He smells like the Georgia peaches the human made him try once. Asmo smells like peaches, he smells like home and love and care, and you would have to hold Lucifer at gunpoint to get him to admit this to his brother.

And now, Lucifer is getting a face full of that smell mixed with vomit as Asmo leans over a bush and loses whatever meager dinner Beel had shoved in him as well as half his body weight in alcohol. There’s a flash from the corner of his eye and he makes a mental note to follow up on that.

“It will sound hypocritical coming from me,” he starts and is promptly interrupted by another retch.

“Then don’t–good Diavolo, that tastes awful–say it.” Asmo takes the water bottle that Lucifer dutifully hands him and rinses his mouth out.

“Are you done?” Lucifer starts fishing around his jacket pocket for a pack of Asmo’s favorite crackers. They taste like flowers, allegedly, and they're one of the few things that Beel genuinely doesn’t like to eat.

“For now.” Asmo takes the crackers and starts munching on them gratefully, leaning heavily into Lucifer’s side as they both walk home.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. Lucifer scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I would never leave one of you alone.”

“Aww, that’s so–”

“The paperwork alone would take at least a decade.”

“Nevermind.”

If Lucifer hunts down the demon who took the picture and threatens them within an inch of their life, that’s between him and his Father. And if Asmo finds out and gives Lucifer a hug at breakfast the following morning, that’s between him and Mammon’s camera roll.

—

Lucifer hates Fangol. Well, that’s not true. He admires the dedication someone has to have to play it and to play it well. He admits that sometimes it’s fun to go to games and get caught up in the hype of the crowd. He also likes that it makes Beel happy. What he doesn’t like is sitting in the stands as his second youngest brother makes a game winning play and then gets tackled onto the turf so hard you can hear the sound his head makes when it hits the ground.

The crowd goes silent and the players and the band take a knee and Lucifer is half dragging half carrying Belphie down the stands to the ambulance as the EMT’s check over their brother.

“Sir, I understand–” The paramedic cuts themself off when they see whose shadows are looming over them. They heave a sigh and gesture to a patch of grass near where they have Beel laying on a gurney. “Try to avoid being in our way.”

It’s a fight to keep Belphie from being underfoot, but there isn’t one when Lucifer says he’s riding in the ambulance with Beel to the hospital. Only a curt nod and then a muttered threat in his ear that he rolls his eyes at and then their off.

“Sorry.” It’s the first thing out of Beel’s mouth after he’s done being asked routine questions.

“It’s not like you asked to receive a concussion.”

“We don’t know that it’s a concussion,” Beel says, wagging his finger slowly. Lucifer rolls his eyes.

“You told the paramedic you wanted to throw up and pass out at the same time.”

“Average Beelzebub activities.” It makes Lucifer snort, lips twitching up into a smile.

“That is the exact opposite of a Beelzebub activity. You’ll be okay, though.” The you have to be goes unsaid.

It turns out to be a concussion and Beel is barred from playing for a while and then everything is fine.

Lucifer has changed his mind, he definitely hates Fangol. He has half a mind to ban Beel from ever playing it again, but if he didn’t have something to focus his energy on, they wouldn’t have a House to live in.

He stayed home from the game, wanting to relax, for once, with a new cursed record and a bottle of his prized Demonus. He might have also paused the record to watch the stream of the game on his phone, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s busy cussing out one of the commentators for their clear bias against Beel–they haven’t been angels in literally thousands of years, people need to find a new excuse–when it cuts suddenly from a replay of the last down to a live feed from the field. And then his phone rings.

“Mammon,” he already knows what happened before he picks up.

“I know ya said not ta call ya tonight, but,” he sounds haggard, and his accent gets thicker when he’s panicking, “ya also said not ta let the hospital call ya so–”

“Mammon,” it comes out snappier than he wants it to and he has to soften his voice when he opens his mouth again, “breathe. What’s happened?”

“Dear Father who art in Heaven–” Lucifer curses again because Mammon only reverts to praying when something is seriously wrong. “Beel got tackled ‘nd– Lucifer, ya could hear the crunch from Diavolo’s good seats.” Lucifer sucks in a breath and considers sending up a couple prayers himself.

“I’m on my way. Beel will– Beel will be okay, Mammon. He’s strong.” He hears Mammon’s assent from the other end of the line just as he hears Levi mumble something to Mammon.

“Oh, yer kiddin’.”

“What? Mammon, what’s going on?”

“We can’t fin’ Belphie.”

“Shit.”

If Lucifer breaks traffic laws on his way to the stadium, no one who pulls him over will be able to make anything stick for very long. He watches as the ambulance pulls away and his D.D.D. buzzes with a message.

Mams

I went with Beel. Everyone’s still tryna find Belphie.

“Lucifer–” he’s met with an armful of brothers before he can put his phone back in his pocket and he’s not strong enough to pretend he doesn’t want to hug them back.

“Did you find–”

“No, obviously not Levi, he just fucking got here.”

“Satan, now is not the time–”

“I’ll decide when the fucking time is, Asmo. Did you see what they did to our–”

“Yeah, I was sitting right next to you. You’re not the only one who’s upset–”

“Guys,” Lucifer raises his voice above their arguing. “Now is not the time.” He hands Diavolo his keys, grateful, for once, at his many attempts to bond with his brothers. “Will you please take them to the hospital? I have a brother to find.”

It doesn’t take him long to find Belphie, but it does take a toll on his knees.

“Belphegor.” He wonders how the youngest climbed on top of the press box without anyone noticing.

“The stadium lights are too bright,” Belphie says, “you can’t see the stars. They drown them out. It’s a bad omen, Lucifer.”

“Belphegor, please come back down.”

“I can’t see them, Lucifer.” His voice is thick with tears.

“They’re still there, Belphie. I promise.”

“We made them together, and I can’t see them.”

“If you come back down we can visit Beel and the two of you can find them together.” Diavolo’s Father help him, he is not climbing on top of that box to bring Belphie down himself.

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

The bad thing about the press box for the R.A.D. stadium, is that the ladder has rusted away. People never go on top of it to watch or film the game anymore because they started to use magic to get the good camera angles. The bad thing about the press box is that when Belphie makes to climb down he slips and has nothing to grab and lands on the concrete stadium seating with a snap that makes Lucifer’s stomach churn.

“I can’t believe you fell while getting down. That’s like, one hundred times easier than goin’ up.” Mammon is beside himself with laughter while he doodles on Belphie’s cast.

“Haha. Laugh it up Mammon. When I’m out of this thing, I’m going to break every bone in your body.” Mammon rolls his eyes at Belphie’s threat.

“The witches have used that one before. Try again.”

“What are you, a magic eight ball?”

“Reply hazy. Try again later.”

“You know,” Asmo says from his spot opposite Mammon, doodling on Beel’s cast, “it is kind of cool that you guys managed to break the same bone.”

“It’s because we’re twins.” Beel says, smiling brightly.

“Yeah,” Satan snorts, “or cause you’re both stupid.”

“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” Levi cuts in before Belphie and Satan can start in on each other.

“Indeed. Although, I believe it’s best that Fangol is heading into its off season.” Lucifer says, and there’s noises of agreement throughout the room.

—

It’s a simple fact of life that Lucifer doesn’t get sick. The Demon King is asleep, the Earth’s year is 365 (365.25) days long, the Crown Prince of the Devildom hates pickles, Michael is a massive loser, and Lucifer doesn’t get sick. He does not get sick or injured or cursed or hexed or anything of the sort because he does not have the time. Except. Except he is most definitely sick right now.

Belphie realized something was wrong when Lucifer didn’t come down for breakfast. He’s a stickler for meal times, always wanting them to share a meal together. Something about family and tradition and will you just do what I say for once that Belphie doesn’t care about or want to listen to. He comes to breakfast and dinner and lunch on the weekends anyway, because Beel does, not because Lucifer wants him to. So, when he looks up from his spot at the table, the cloth permanently drool stained despite the oldest’s best efforts, and watches all of his brothers leave except Lucifer, he gets confused.

“Beel,” he asks, tilting his head just so, “did Lucifer have a meeting today?” Usually he would tell them. Several times throughout the week if it was planned and then again in the morning before he leaves. He’s weird like that, he doesn’t like not knowing where everyone is. Belphie thinks he’s a control freak, even if he finds knowing his brother’s whereabouts comforting.

“No,” Beel says this around a mouthful of muffin, “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Well. I guess we’ll see him at school.”

They do not, in fact, see him at school. Mammon shares first period with him, which means he can never skip the first hour and a half of R.A.D. Except today, there’s no harsh pokes in his back whenever he starts to zone out, and there’s no pointed coughs when he pulls out his phone and starts playing games. He looks around and there’s no Lucifer.

Demon Brothers

Mams: ayo. where is. lucifer.

Catan: he’s not in class?

Mams: if he was I wouldn’t be askin.

Catan: the phone screen makes you bold, brother. watch yourself.

Mams: o7 aye aye cap’n.

Beel: Belphie says he wasn’t at breakfast either

Mams: is belphie’s phone broke???

Beel: he says typing is too much effort

Mams: understandable have a nice day

Asmo: o.o Lucifer not at breakfast? But he’s always weird when we miss it!

Catan: typical Lucifer hypocrisy

Levs: you know he can still read this chat right?

Catan: when has that ever stopped me -_-

Levs: you guys have hit like all of the Summoning Lucifer Bullet Points

Levs: 1. Mention his name fifty times

Levs: 2. Blow up his phone

Levs: 3. Text during class time

Levs: 4. Slander him at least once

Levs: 5. Ask about his private business/goings on

Beel: and yet

Mams: no Lucifer

The real header comes during the afternoon, when Lucifer doesn’t show up to the scheduled Student Council Meeting.

“Alrighty!” Diavolo says, chipper as ever, “when Lucifer gets here, we’ll start the meeting. He has all of the paperwork, anyway.”

So they wait. And they wait.

“Yo, dude,” Mammon calls to Diavolo and he turns his head, Barbatos coughs into his fist at the lack of formality. “I don’t think Lucifer is gonna show.”

“Yeah,” Belphie yawns, “he wasn’t in school today, either.”

“Or at breakfast, apparently.” Levi says, though it’s hard to hear him over the music of his game.

“That is. Odd. Is he still at home, then?” Diavolo pulls out his phone and starts texting.

“No use,” Asmo says, “we’ve been bothering him all day.”

“Privately and in the group chat,” Satan adds. “Though, he may not have opened my messages because they were all cursed.”

“He didn’t open mine either,” Beel says. “I think he’s just been off his phone.”

“Unusual,” Barbatos says, stepping out of his shadowy corner. “Perhaps something is amiss?”

“With Lucifer?” Asmo sounds incredulous, lowering his compact just long enough to arch an eyebrow at the butler before tapping more powder on his face. “Nothing is ever wrong with Lucifer.” Belphie yawns before nodding in agreement and adding his own two cents.

“Even when we curse him things aren’t wrong. He always manages to make it seem so �� normal.”

“I remember that time his pants kept falling down,” Levi says. “I thought it would make him less intimidating. I was wrong.” He shudders. “Very wrong.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Barbatos says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why does he do anythin’?” Mammon stands up as he says this, grabbing his bag and his phone and making his way towards the door. “Lucifer does what he wants and shows no remorse for it.” There’s a pause where he remembers the Fall. “Mosta the time.”

“Well, if we aren’t going to do anything,” Asmo’s compact shuts with a click, “I have people to do and things to see.”

“It’s ‘things to do and people to see’, Asmo,” Satan says, following his brothers out.

“I know what I said.”

Barbatos and Diavolo watch as the brothers leave, one by one, all citing different excuses before sharing a look.

“Is it rude to stop by people’s homes uninvited, Barbatos?” Diavolo asks, pushing his chair back.

“Yes. But in cases where Lucifer is concerned, manners and politeness have never stopped you, my Lord.” Barbatos follows behind the Prince, steps silent in contrast to the clacking of Diavolo’s shoes on the Academy’s stone floors. Diavolo’s laugh echoes throughout the hallway.

“I suppose you’re right. Come, I believe I must pay a visit to my right hand.”

“Always.”

The House is cold when Diavolo gets there. He can hear Beel rummaging in the kitchen, and Belphie’s soft snores accompanying him. He can hear Levi and Mammon fighting over something and he can hear the thud of books falling over in Satan’s room. He can hear Asmo because Asmo greets him when he enters.

“Oh, hey!” He waves excitedly, before pointing at his feet. “Which shoes do you think look better with this outfit?”

“I think they both look nice,” Diavolo replies and Asmo pouts.

“Not helpful.”

“The ones on your left, Asmodeus.” Barbatos’ eyes peer from behind Diavolo’s shoulder and Asmo smiles in response.

“Thanks! Hey,” he tugs the shoe on his right foot off and tosses it into a pile next to the door before grabbing his left foot’s twin from seemingly nowhere, “you guys didn’t see Solomon out there, did you?”

“I thought I told you that he isn’t allowed within twenty feet of the front door.” Lucifer’s normal baritone is raspy with sickness, vocal cords raw from coughing.

“He’s not going to be within twenty feet. He’s going to stand an inch outside of the barrier.” Asmo turns and places his hands on his brother’s shoulders, spinning him around and pushing him back towards the living room. “I also thought I told you to lie down and sleep. I suppose we both aren’t good at listening, hmm?” Lucifer grumbles at him despite following Asmo’s guidance to the couch.

“I heard the door open.” Diavolo follows the duo towards the living room, Barbatos his ever present shadow.

“There are six other people who can answer it.” He watches as Asmo pushes Lucifer into a sitting position and shoves blankets around him.

“That’s what I worry about.” Asmo rolls his eyes.

“Stop being a baby and just lay down. How can you catch Mammon and string him up by his toenails if you can’t go a second without coughing?”

“I can,” Lucifer pauses to cough, “I can take any one of you down, even in this weakened state.”

There’s a snort from the entrance to the kitchen as the twins walk in, Beel carrying soup and Belphie carrying nothing.

“You couldn’t block even the lowest level curse from Satan at this rate.” Belphie says, curling up on the couch next to Lucifer and resting his head on his lap.

“I could–”

“You’re very strong, Lucifer,” Asmo placates, patting his older brother’s head condescendingly. “Now, eat your soup and shut up. I have a date to get to and I’m running late.”

“Maybe I should cough on you so you can’t go anymore.” The threat is empty, but Asmo’s smile still sharpens in response.

“Maybe I should take a seam ripper to all of your clothes,” he turns on his heel. “Oh, also. Diavolo is here.” The responding squawk Lucifer lets out sends him into another coughing fit, one that disrupts the sleeping Belphie on his lap.

“My Lord,” Lucifer makes to get up and is physically yanked back down by Belphie, “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“No worries! You didn’t show up to the meeting today, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I stopped by to see how you were.” Diavolo gestures to the bottles of cold medicine on the coffee table and the bowl of soup being shoved at Lucifer by Beel. “It seems you are all taken care of.”

“Indeed. I appreciate your concern–”

“Beel, Lucifer’s boyfriend was worried about him. Isn’t that sweet?” Beel nods at Belphie’s joke, resting his head against the side of Lucifer’s knee from his newly acquired spot on the floor.

“The sweetest. Someone tell Asmo he’s being beaten in the best boyfriend competition.” There’s twin thunks as Lucifer smacks the both of them on the head, face now flushed with something other than fever.

“That’s enough out of you two.” He sighs and looks back up at Diavolo and Barbatos. “Would the two of you like to stay for dinner? Satan’s in charge tonight and he likely won’t poison it since I’m too ill to eat much of anything.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Diavolo sits in an empty armchair that he thinks is Lucifer’s regular seat when his phone buzzes.

Emergency Chat ONLY

Belphie: hey satan, lucifer’s boyfriend is staying for dinner

Catan: man. now I can’t put this human world poison I found in it.

Belphie: probably wouldn’t work anyway

Beel: Barbatos is also staying

Belphie: my apologies Beel. you’re right

Belphie: lucifer’s boyfriendS are staying for dinner

Levs: this is great

Levs: I wanted to talk to Diavolo about the new chapter of the manga we’re reading

Mams: the rule is no loser talk at the dinner table

Levs: why do you open your mouth so much then

Mams: i’m gonna fucken get you

Asmo: if Lucifer gets to bring his boyfriends why can’t i bring Solomon

Catan: because Solomon sucks.

Catan: actually

Catan: would Solomon be able to con a fever high Lucifer into a pact

Mams: the downside here is that Solomon would be at dinner

Beel: I’d lose my appetite

Asmo: he’s not that bad

Asmo: and don’t lie Beel

Asmo: we aren’t going to let him cook

Asmo: we aren’t stupid

Lucifer: This chat is for emergencies only.

Belphie: i know. that’s why we’re discussing dinner

Lucifer: If I see Solomon anywhere near the House I will find a way to reverse his immortality.

Catan: wear a blindfold

Asmo: kinky

Catan: freak

Lucifer: I believe I also told you to stop referring to Diavolo and Barbatos as my boyfriends.

Mams: sucks 2 suck

Levs: L moment

Lucifer: I also believe they are in this chat.

Belphie: i know. that’s why we’re discussing dinner.

Belphie: keep up old man

Lucifer: I will remind you that you’re laying in my lap.

Belphie: what’re you gonna do

Belphie: cough on me??

Levs: chat, clip this

Mams: what was that scream???

Diavolo: Belphegor.

Barbs: Lucifer did more than just “cough on him.”

Mams: oh damn.

Mams: so what’s for dinner

Beel: Lucifer says Belphegor stew

Mams: I thought it was Satan’s turn to cook????????

Catan: lucifer just tried to shove belphie in the oven.

Barbatos: With no seasoning? How revolting.

Diavolo: Demons taste better fried, anyway.

Mams: PARDON???

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